


{Pomogi mne skvozʹ buryu - Help me through the storm.}

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Fucking crazy ass diseases kill off females, M/M, Medical operations that cause ukes to have children, Mpreg, No women, Russia is a mafioso, Subs are called Corsets, There will also be sex, There will be arranged marriages
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2012-09-17
Packaged: 2017-11-14 10:35:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was born in a world where there are no women, love is only allowed if it suits political needs, where the shadows defend you, then break you down, and alcohol isn't a man's friend anymore. My name is Lovino Vargas, and my storm was bloody, and painful.</p><p>I was born during the plague, in a world where sisters and mothers die, and fathers are colder than ice. My name is Ivan Braginski, and I am a product of my environment. My storm was treacherous, a battle of wits and bullets.</p><p>I was born in a normal, boring world that turned into Hell when I was barely old enough to talk. I was forced to raise my siblings, and they left me as soon as they could. My name is Wang Yao, and my storm was heart felt, and echoing.</p><p>I was born into privilege, and despite growing up in my brother's world, I never noticed it. My name is Feliciano Vargas, and my storm stemmed from love lost, and a pain unimaginable.</p><p>I was born into the world of fake faces, and fake motives. I was always told to do what I was told, and never question. My name is Toris Laurinaitis, and my storm was brought on by a marriage unwanted, a pity too severe, and an innocent child's face.</p><p>The question now, is who will help us through our storms?</p>
            </blockquote>





	{Pomogi mne skvozʹ buryu - Help me through the storm.}

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I came up with the idea for this world, but, other than that, I own nothing.  
> This chapter is your introduction to Lovino and Ivan, the two main characters.
> 
> Edit: Previous beginning of chapter note was too long.

The moon is out, and his scarf is uncontrollable against the wind. He knows that there is someone behind him. He walks faster. The bastard behind him does too. He’s tempted to turn around and cuss the shit out of the fucker, but Lovino has never really been one for confrontation.  
It’s not that he can’t defend himself; it’s just that he prefers not to get himself into situations where he needs to. So, he walks faster, and promises himself that he’ll give this Braginski bastard an earful for not sending him a car and driver. 

It’s about two blocks to the seedy bar that Braginski invited him to, but it feels like two miles, with the guy behind him there the entire way. When he opens the door, the guy follows him in. He shudders under his coat, but pretends not to notice the man that followed him, and settles onto a stool in front of the bar. The bar keep raises an eyebrow at him, but Lovino just gives him his best ‘no-nonsense’ face. “Do you happen to know where I can find Mr. Braginski?”  
He nods his head, and disappears into the back room. A guy settles up next to him at the bar, and gives him a creepy ass smirk that makes shivers go up his spine.  
“Now, what’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?” Lovino ignores him. The guy leans in closer, and places a hand on his thigh. He bristles, and shoots him a glare.  
“Get your fucking hand off me, bastard.”  
The man chuckles.  
“Such a dirty mouth, precious. How about I help you clean it up, eh?” He tries to pull away, but the guy’s slipping an arm around his waist before Lovino can move an inch.  
“Get the fuck off me!” The guy’s leaning in, shaking his head minutely, and he’s trying to pull away, but the sick fuck won’t let go of him, and he’s starting to freak out, when a strong hand pulls, practically rips, the man away from him. 

“First rule of my bar, Comrade. Don’t fuck with the corsets. Now get the fuck out.”  
The guy practically trips over himself, he’s in such a hurry to get out of there. It’s pretty damn impressive, and as Lovino turns to his rescuer, he can understand the fucker’s hurry. The man standing before him is at least six feet tall, and looks like he could break a guy’s skull with one hand.  
“Thanks for that. “  
He smirks, and it’s kind of half welcoming, and half creepy. “Don’t mention it.”  
Lovino sort of half smiles back at him, and holds out a hand, willing it to not to tremble a little. “Well, I suppose if you’re going to go around saving damsels in distress, they should probably introduce themselves. Name’s Lovino Vargas.”  
He takes the hand, and gently shakes it, as though Lovino is some sort of fucking doll.  
“Ivan Braginski. I’m going to assume you’re the Lovino Vargas I arranged to meet with.”  
He raises an eyebrow. “Do you meet a lot of Lovino Vargas’s in your daily life, Mr. Braginski?”  
He chuckles. “No, I can’t say that I do.” He points him toward the back room, and Lovino winces as he stumbles, and scrapes one of his leather boots. The damn things’ll need to be polished, now, and that’ll be a real pain in the ass. 

While he’s been playing his inner monologue about his fucking boots, he doesn’t notice that the door has just been closed, and it doesn’t really click that he’s being shoved up against the wall until there’s a vise-like grip around his throat, and a pair of warm lips invading his.  
He tries shoving him off, and when that doesn’t work, he grips the scarf around the taller man’s neck, pulling at it like his life depends on it. And, from the way Braginski’s holding his throat, it probably does. The bastard lets go of him for a second, but only long enough to toss the scarf across the room, before grabbing him, and shoving him up against the wall again.  
There’s a strong hand clamped around his hip, and one of his arms is slammed up against the wall. The fucking bastard, saving him from one sick fuck, only to try it himself. But, here, Lovino has an advantage.  
His hand connects with the Russian’s cheek before he can even process that he’s thrown a punch, and he’s running for that door the second the asshole reels back. If he wants to break his own rules, Lovino’s sure as fuck not gonna give him the satisfaction of breaking ‘em without a fight.

The hand that yanks him away from the door is harsh, and Braginski looks fucking pissed. The bruise blooming on the blonde’s cheek looks like it at least smarts, and Lovino knows that because of it, there will be a wicked ass bruise where his back has just hit the floor tomorrow morning. And when Braginski flips him over, and presses a gun to his temple, he realizes that he should be busy praying that he’ll be there for tomorrow.  
“You,” he can hear his Slavic accent, now that he’s angry, “are going to be shutting the fuck up. Now.”  
And, as much as he fucking hates himself for it, he knows that he’s not going to make any noise with that gun pressed up against his head. Even when a hand reaches around to the front of his jeans, he still stays quiet. From what he saw earlier, he’s pretty damn sure that Braginski won’t hesitate to use that thing, and Lovino rather likes his brains where they are, and not all over a store room floor. 

The cement rubs against his skin in all the wrong ways, and as soon as his jeans are off, he can definitely feel the floor. He hears Braginski spit into his palm, behind him, and the slick noises that follow are more than slightly ominous. So, when the bastard’s cock presses into his entrance, and is rammed inside of him, it’s excruciating, but not exactly a surprise. Lovino is by no means a virgin, thanks to his fiancé, but he’s one-hundred percent sure the liquid running down his thighs is blood, and when Braginski starts thrusting into him, he has to bite his lip until it too bleeds, to keep from crying out in pain. He’s trying not to scream, but he’s pretty sure that a couple of whimpers, and a grunt of pain escape before he can stop them. Braginski either doesn’t give a fuck, or can’t hear them. Either way, Lovino tries to keep them to a minimum anyway, just in case the bastard decides he wants him completely silent.

The floor is scraping his skin, and he’s pretty sure that he looks like death warmed over. When Braginski finally comes, he’s quick to try and scamper away from him, but it’s kind of pathetic with his pants around his ankles, and his ass dripping blood and semen.  
He doesn’t care about the pain though, he just yanks his jeans on, and fucking bolts. He’s not exactly sure where the hell he’s going, but somehow his subconscious directs him home, so, by the time he’s getting light headed, and the world starts spinning, he’s inside a familiar entryway. When his back hits the floor though, he can’t say that makes a difference in the pain. Actually, he can’t say anything, because he’s just blacked out.

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter, we'll get the reactions to Lovino's plight, an introduction to some new characters, such as Lovino's parents, Antonio, and Feli.
> 
> Somewhere in the future, I'll post some sketches of what the corsets are wearing, so you can peruse through those once they're here.
> 
> Edit: my titles are basically me just making fun of myself, but I'll still link you guys some music to go with each one.


End file.
